


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by genagirl



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Christmas fic, Happy Ending, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genagirl/pseuds/genagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See title.  :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Home For Christmas

I’ll Be Home For Christmas 

By Gena 

…For Daria

Jim Ellison leaned forward, eyes riveted on the road but one hand fiddling with the radio’s knob. Usually he couldn’t stand to listen to the Ford’s antique sound system. His sensitive ears heard every blast of static like someone banging on a tin drum and the overlapping voices reaching his antenna made him feel vaguely schizophrenic. After three hours on the road and only the prospect of another three ahead of him, the drone of the tires on the asphalt was driving him insane, he missed Blair. Thoughts of his guide caused the hand gripping the wheel to tighten and the old truck weaved to the right. "Shit," he muttered and wrestled it back onto the roadway from the shoulder. He finally found an oldies station and struggled to ignore the pounding in his head which kept time to Dion and the Belmonts. The heater had gone out somewhere in western Wyoming and the inside of the cab felt more like the inside of a meat locker. He’d tried turning down his senses of touch but the resulting feeling; a weird bodiless floating made him give it up after about half an hour. All he wanted was to get back to Cascade and his partner. Lately Ellison had come to realize that Blair Sandburg was more than just the kid who helped him with his heightened senses. Blair had become the brother he’d always wanted, the friend he’d always needed, and the soul he’d always searched for, he loved his partner in a way which defied words, logic and his own heart.

It wasn’t as if the first moment he’d seen the kid that he knew they were destined to spend the rest of their lives together. In fact, the first time they’d met he’d been so angry he’d thrown Sandburg against a wall and threatened him. Of course, Sandburg being Sandburg, had snarled right back at him, doggedly insisting he had the answers. Jim let a smile flicker at the corners of his mouth at that thought. Blair always seemed to have the answers. Something inside Ellison had trusted the kid even when his anger and fear was trying so hard to push him away. There had never been anyone in Jim’s life with whom he’d felt that instant connection. Never been anyone who had healed the rotting flesh loneliness had left in his heart.

"Gettin’ old, Jimmy," he admonished himself, "that kid doesn’t need an old war-horse like you moaning over him." He tried so hard not to let it show, but his feelings for Sandburg went so deep he couldn’t help it. Being a Sentinel, he’d heard every speculation, every idle comment anyone in the department have ever even thought about him and his younger partner. They discussed his obsession with Blair’s hair, his propensity to touch Sandburg, his possessive nature when the kid show interest in someone else. When Cassie Wells had briefly worked in the forensics department and gone after Blair like a Stealth Bomber, rumors had flown about Ellison’s jealous pout. Okay, so he had sulked…a bit, but he figured he had a right to. Cassie had just come in and taken over, monopolizing Sandburg’s time, manipulating his attention so that Jim, his proclaimed Holy Grail, became an after thought. When she’d shown up at the loft, wanting to help Blair figure out what the artifact they’d found at the dig meant, Jim had known he didn’t have a chance. He’d trudged back to his bedroom and lay across the big empty mattress just listening to their voices. The only bright spot had come when he heard Cassie inviting Blair out for lunch and the kid refused, saying he and Jim had plans. 

It was really pathetic the way he had come to crave Sandburg’s company. The three days in Wyoming had been torturous, there had been times in the evening when he’d reached for the phone and begun to dial the loft’s number. Only the thought of what Sandburg would say when he couldn’t come up with a valid reason for calling had stopped Jim from doing it. So, instead he’d put on his coat and headed out to a bar and sat there listening to bragging lies from complete strangers as he fended off a variety of sexual advances. Some of the things he’d been offered had sounded like some of Sandburg’s weirder sensory experiments. "Now why doesn’t the kid every want to do tests like that?" Jim wondered. Sometimes, usually late at night when Sandburg was on a date, Jim would imagine the whole conversation. He pictured Blair, wearing his serious expression, conniving him into a sensory test. It started innocently enough; Blair needed more data on the tactile responses of a sentinel so he gently touched Jim’s arm. The touches always seemed to sear Jim’s flesh, leaving a molten trail where his guide’s hands had been. Soon, satisfied with the results of such a benign experiment, Blair would get Jim to take off his shirt and those maddening fingers would trace the muscles of Ellison’s chest, swooping down to his flat abdomen and mapping his ribs. Through it all, Jim would struggled to maintain his control, needing for his guide to remain ignorant of what he truly felt. Even when Sandburg’s hands divested him of trousers, Jim told himself he alone felt the desire, he alone burned for his partner. But then the touches changed, lips replaced fingers, moist breath fanned his passion and when he opened his eyes to the fiery blaze which smoldered in those all seeing eyes, Jim let himself believe Blair loved him. So many nights he had fallen asleep with Sandburg’s name on his lips, only to awaken to the cold reality of his life.

Ellison let the depression pull a sigh from his lips and braked the truck for a roadside stop. He breathed deeply of the crisp air, his depression falling away with the sight of some many Santa’s lining the tiny store’s front window. He’d almost forgotten Christmas this year; it seemed pointless to celebrate. Blair had announced earlier that month that he and Naomi were planning a visit to some long lost relative. At least Jim thought the man was long lost, Blair had never mentioned a Uncle Sal before but who could keep up with them all? Embarrassed by the betrayal he felt had prompted him to put some distance between them. For almost a week after that, Jim had worked late and when Blair was at the station with him, he’d done his best to needle the kid. 

It was stupid, petty really, but damnit why couldn’t they spend one Christmas together? Naomi flitted in and out of her son’s life like a butterfly, why did she have to choose this time of year to get in touch with her roots? The two previous Christmases, hadn’t been any better. The first year they’d gone their separate ways, Blair to a party with friends and Jim to the mountains alone. He’d lied to the younger man, not wanting to seem so pitiable, and said his cousin had invited him for the day. Rucker usually did invite him to the island but this year his call had been an announcement that he’d be spending the holidays with his girlfriend’s family. So Jim had driven to his father’s house and sat outside in the truck for several hours, his heightened hearing picking up the sounds of footsteps wandering through the empty house. Twice he’d reached for the door handle and twice he’d started the engine but in the end he’d gone back to the station and did paper work. The second year he’d had visions of treating Sandburg to his famous Turkey Delight but the kid had spent it in a hospital recovering from a brutal assault and Jim had taken down the decorations days before Blair returned to the loft. Shaking his head to clear that memory, Ellison pushed open the door, eyes blinking rapidly as the smell ambushed his hyper senses. The tiny store, looked like a Mom & Pop, smelled like his mother’s kitchen: gingerbread! He’d stood for hours, patiently helping Grace bake dozens of gingerbread men to hand out at church and once her obligation had been done she’d hand him the biggest and sweetest of the bunch. God, how he’d loved those Saturdays just before Christmas.

"You look half frozen, sonny," a soft voice declared. Jim spun, amazed that someone had sneaked up on him. "Sit yourself down and I’ll make you a nice cup of hot chocolate." Jim could only nod as he was pushed towards a rickety looking stool perched near a pot bellied stove. He didn’t have time to tell the woman he rather have coffee before she’d disappeared through a door in the back. The stove glowed warmly and he held his hands out in welcoming, trying to soak it up. Jim allowed his hearing to delve into the back of the small store, following the proprietor’s labors and smiling. She hummed Silent Night over the clatter of cups and when she appeared with two steaming mugs the smell of rich, sweet chocolate made his mouth water. "Here you are," she said. She must have been seventy, her snowy hair a crown left by life, her eyes dancing like children. "where you heading?"

"Cascade," Jim managed, taking a sip of the hot drink. "I’m a police officer heading back home."

"You sound happy about that," she declared with a smile. Jim couldn’t help but smile in return though he knew by the time he got back to the loft Blair would be all packed and ready to meet Naomi in Seattle. "You have a family there?"

"Ye….well, no, not really," Jim said. The old woman waited, her eyes compelling him to add, "just my friend, Sand…Blair. He’s a nice kid but not family. I mean, he’s my partner, an observer with the police." Realizing he’d begun to ramble, Jim took refuge in his cup again. 

"He sounds like a good friend," came the firm reply. She reached over and patted Jim’s hand. "I’m sure he thinks you’re a wonderful friend, too." Somehow, this complete stranger’s words brought a sense of comfort. Jim found himself relaxing, even explaining a bit of his complicated relationship with Sandburg to her. She listened, really listened, her eyes warm and welcoming as he talked about how he’d come to depend on Sandburg for company, how he liked to just sit in the quiet loft and listen to his partner work on some paper or another. When the cold cup in his hand told him how much time had passed, Jim shook his head.

"Sorry to talk your ear off like that," he apologized. "I’m usually not that verbose." She laughed, making him chuckle in return. "Thanks for the hot chocolate."

"You’re welcome, Jim," she said. "Will you do me a favor?" When Ellison eagerly agreed, she went to a shelf above the ancient cash register and took something down. "Here, give this to Blair for Christmas." In her weathered palm there sat a hunk of green glass, it’s edges smooth, bubbles trapped deep inside like dreams. 

"I couldn’t……" Jim began but she closed his fingers over it.

"It’s just a trinket," she declared, "but look inside it. Look below the surface and see how it holds its secrets?" Jim nodded, his eyes instinctively focusing on the emerald depths. "People are like that, Jim. People hold secrets but if you look at them, really look at them, you can see the truth they hold." 

He thanked her, clutching the bit of glass in his hand as he walked back to the truck. He could trace the edges, feel each curve, each flat surface with his fingers. He smiled and waved as he drove off, the lump of glass secure on the seat beside him. It wasn’t until he passed the sign which announced Cascade that he began to wonder what kind of gift a lump of colored glass was for a man like Blair Sandburg. Jim hefted the object, half tempted to roll down the window and fling it away but he didn’t. The rich color, the silky texture, the diamonds of air locked within it held him back, the echo of the woman’s words stayed with him even as he pulled into a space outside Collette’s. 

Jim waited a moment, confused at first by the sounds he could hear in his apartment. Christmas music filled the air - Perry Como? Had marauding burglars broken into his house and replaced his collection of seventies hits with old fogy music? On the brink of drawing his weapon, Jim stopped when he recognized the lilting voice singing along. Blair, singing - this was too much. Why wasn’t Sandburg in Seattle? Jim felt his mouth dry, maybe something had happened. Maybe something had prevented Blair from being able to make the trip. Picturing a thousand accidents, Ellison snatched up the hunk of glass, hurriedly stuffing it in his pocket and raced across the street. He pounded up the stairs, too impatient for the elevator. 

He’d almost made it to the third floor when he tripped. The landlord had been promising to repair a strip of carpet loose in the hallway and obviously he’d chosen his moment well. Jim raced up the stairs and when his wet boot hit the bare wood floor he had a millisecond to comprehend what was happening. His right knee slammed hard against the wooden boards, jagged spears of pain thrust deep into his kneecap before receding. Ellison didn’t let it stop him, he hauled himself upright and limped towards #307. The music had ended but Blair’s voice still reached his ears, pushing him on.

"Chief?" he called as soon as he got the door open. "Blair, why aren’t you in Seattle?" Ellison heard the muttered obscenity over the ringing crash. "Sandburg!" He hobbled across the dining area and burst into his partner’s room. The sight which greeted him almost made Jim forget his panic and the pain lancing up his leg. Blair stood beside his desk, hands out in front of him as if he were holding something. That something lay at his feet amid a sparkling shower of glass. Blair’s photos had been the first items to mark the spare room as his. Jim could remember coming in those first few weeks and noticing one more hanging on the wall. All those smiling faces; in the desert, in the jungle, in wheat fields and factory parking lots, and Sandburg right in the middle of them, his smile the biggest of all. Jim had envied his new roommate, his own photos were a few stiff photos of junior high and high school friends and the desperately brave gangs of soldiers in the middle of places they had officially never been, and to see so many people shining with happiness made him realize how empty his life had been. When Blair met his eyes, the smile captured so beautifully on film could never have graced those stricken features. "I’m - I’m sorry," Ellison stammered. "I thought you were in Seattle."

Blair knelt and began picking photos out of the shards of glass. When he looked up Jim couldn’t read his eyes. " Naomi called. Her plans changed and she’s gone to Brazil with some guy she met." Jim swallowed hard, he could hear his own pain in Sandburg’s words. So many times after his mother had left all he’d wanted to do was be with her anywhere she was, he missed her so much. She would promise a visit and when the appointed day came Jim could remember sitting in his room, stomach twisted with dread, his world balanced on a knife blade. The ringing of the phone, echoing in the huge house, sneaking along the corridors, always found him huddled there in his room. His dad never even came upstairs to tell him, Jim would just sit in his room all day, his bag packed, but he never cried. Now, he could feel those tears, held back for years until they burned his eyes like coals. How could anyone do that to Blair? How could they push him away when he was such a gentle and caring soul? A regretful wave rose in Jim’s chest. Hadn’t he done the exact same thing? Hadn’t he pushed Blair away to spare his own feeling.

"I’m sorry," he whispered and then Blair was in his arms. Jim had no idea how he’d gotten there, whether he’d reached out to shelter his friend or whether Sandburg had sought refuge there. How ever it had happened, Jim welcomed it. He breathed deeply, filtering his own pain through the silky curls where his face was buried. Somehow, with his arms anchoring Blair to his chest and his partner crushing his ribs in a strong embrace, the world didn’t seem empty anymore. Each breath rushing through Blair’s lungs pushed itself against his, each beat of his partner’s heart beat against his breast. "It’s good to be home," Jim said. His embrace, tightening on the last word, drew him just that much closer.

They stood that way for a long time shattered memories at their feet and the future in their arms. Feeling Sandburg tense, Jim pulled back and gazed down into his friend’s face. He could see his reflection in those deep blue eyes and the image there was smiling. Blair blinked, his own smile filling Ellison with awe, and then they laughed. "Guess it’s just us, big guy." The new closeness, an overwhelming need to maintain contact, remained. "Come on," Blair urged, stepping back but slipping his arm around Ellison’s waist, "I want to hear about the case." 

"Not much of a……ouch!" Jim, his swollen knee forgotten, lurched as it gave way beneath him. Only Sandburg’s strong arms kept him from measuring his length on the hardwood floor.

"Jim!" Blair gasped. "What’s wrong?" He maneuvered the larger man to the bed and knelt at Ellison’s feet.

"I cracked my knee on the floor when I slipped."

"The carpet," Blair guessed. "I told Mr. Jacobs he needed to put something down." Sandburg already had the leg of Jim’s khakis pushed up, his dextrous fingers probing the discolored joint. "That’s the same knee you banged up when you were hit by that car," Blair reminded him. "Stay here and I’ll get some ice." He disappeared and when he returned he carried the bag of frozen peas they routinely used for abused muscles. Jim wondered what would happen if someday either of them forgot and actually cooked the peas, would they be able to eat them without bad memories? 

Later that night Jim sighed in contentment, he sat on the couch, leg propped up on a pillow, the ice bag replaced by a heated bag of corn. He followed his partner’s progress around the apartment, totally aware of the besotted grin on his face. He was where he wanted to be, where he truly belonged, and it felt good. "Hey, Chief," he called as Sandburg finished the dishes and was heading towards the living room. "Could you hand me my jacket?"

"You cold?" Blair asked with worry in his voice.

"No, just hand it to me." Jim let his fingers brush Blair’s when handed the coat and both them smiled. He dug into the pocket, tracing the lines of the chunk of glass. He found himself nervous, wondering if Blair would understand what he meant and he hesitated, full of doubt. A sudden weight beside him made Jim glance up and the complete acceptance and devotion which had always been his made him pull the gift from its hiding place. "Here," he said and wrapped Blair’s fingers around it.

The whirr of the refrigerator fan roared in the silent loft apartment. Jim could actually feel the beads of sweat as they leaked from his pores and cascaded down between his shoulder blades. Finally the dark head rose, veiled eyes locked with his. Sandburg studied him as if Jim was an alien culture dropped into his lap and the moisture creeping along Ellison’s spine contrasted sharply with the dryness in his throat.

"I guess I should have gone with the Ferrari," Jim said in a voice which died away. 

"And make me give up a classic?" Sandburg continued to stare at Jim, tiny flickers of emotion visible but too quick to read. 

Jim swallowed and carefully took the green object resting in Sandburg’s hand. "It’s smooth and sharp at the same time," he observed, turning the glass so that it sparkled in the light. "The edges are rough but they wouldn’t cut you unless you tightened your grip into a fist." He paused, eyes still fixed on the gift he held, "the bubbles inside are like diamonds, each one unique when you finally see it. And you have to really look deep inside," he added, "you have to want to see them. They’re beautiful…..beautiful." He shrugged, embarrassed by what had fallen from his lips, and kept his eyes down. It wasn’t until the patch of warmth at his side shifted and the green glass taken from his hand that Jim could meet his partner’s gaze.

"A gift is only a reflection of the giver," Blair murmured. The lips which settled over Ellison’s were firm and demanding. Jim relinquished his hold on control and surrendered to the one soul which had always held sway over him. He opened to Sandburg and revealed in the gift he was given that night. They had no tree sparkling with decorations, no lighted Menorah, nothing but a fragment of green glass discarded for its imperfection and given with unquestionable love. And for that reason it was Christmas.

MERRY CHRISTMAS


End file.
